


Quiet Moments

by actualtimelady



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualtimelady/pseuds/actualtimelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are rarely quiet for the Inquisition. You know the big moments --the fights, the looting, the red lyrium --but that isn’t what makes life. These are those rare, stolen moments of peace that held the members over between battles.</p>
<p>Characters, tags, warnings and et cetera will be added as chapters pass. While I intend to follow the story of the Inquisitor, not all chapters will feature her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

Was it all a dream? Well, no. It can’t have been all a dream. For one, she’d never dreamed of elves bowing to her and running out of a room, frantic to tell a Seeker that she’d awoken. For two, she had never dreamed at all, being what she was. Nor had she ever been important enough to have someone alerted to the fact that she’d woken up, now that she thought about it.

_Oi_ , her head hurt.

The Breach. She’d… Had it closed? She couldn’t remember. But her mark didn’t -- _ouch_. Well, it hurt less, in any case. Deep breath. Out of bed.

But-- Ah, there is a note on the door, written in a neat, flowing script:

 

 

> _Lady Cadash, There are items left for you in the chest, sent by people who witnessed what you did at the temple. People are waiting for you to wake up, and I figured it might be better for you to be seen in these rather than the clothes you slept in._
> 
> _Just a fair warning: the people of Haven (and yes, much of Ferelden and Orlais, I am told) have begun to refer to you as “The Herald of Andraste”. We have done nothing to stop this title from spreading._
> 
> _Wishing you a speedy recovery,  
> _ _Ambassador Montilyet_

“Herald of Andraste?” How in the world they had come up with that one would be beyond her. The armor was… Nice. And it fit well. When had they had time to get her measurements? How long had she been out?

Time to face the crowd then… and hope the serving elf was right, and they didn’t blame her for all of this.


	2. The Right Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra isn't sure if what she feels is excitement or regret.

The clang of sword-on-sword had always been a satisfying and calming sound to Cassandra. Many aspects of training were satisfying to her --the dull ache in her muscles that meant she was exerting herself, the sweat that dripped from her forehead, the grunts of blows dealt. It was all… _wonderful_. Cassandra often craved the jarring  _WMPH_ of her own sword against a training dummy, practicing her form until she could barely stand to move. It was calming, it was distracting, and it was rigorous. 

But most importantly, it cleared her head.

Not that the head clearing made it any easier, but it was a start.

Was it the right thing? It had to be. It was the only course of action in front of her. Well, that wasn’t exactly a compelling argument for “right” or “wrong”. Was there a right when that was the only acceptable option. Does the fact that the only other answer was so out of the question make it inherently “right”? Two hours of drills gave her no answer.

She should have searched for Hawke. That’s what Leliana or Cullen would have done. Leliana would have jogged the memory of every single one of the Champion’s friends until she had to come out of hiding. Cullen would have searched relentlessly in corners of the world --Hawke had a mage girlfriend, right? They could have tracked her. But no, Cassandra took Varric to the Conclave and now the Divine was dead. Was the choices she made even then wrong? Three hours still left her with nothing but an ache in her legs from crouching and one broken training dummy.

A dwarf was their herald. A carta dwarf, and one that had already proven herself in a fight, but a dwarf. There was nothing in the Chant that could have prepared the world for her and yet, there she was. They were calling the inquisition a heretical movement and there was little they could do to stop the rumors at this point. No matter that the Herald didn’t consider herself religious and wasn’t sure if she believed in the Maker --the people talked. They talked about adding verses to the Chant of Light about a dwarven savior sent by Andraste herself and that scared the Clerics. Her only choice that brought some moments of peace to the situation, and all she could do is second-guess herself. Four hours had given her nothing but arms that shook and legs that could barely carry her to the small cot she kept with the regular soldiers.

The inquisition was born by her hand and Leliana’s. By the Right and Left Hands of Divine Justinia. By Divine Justinia herself. What they set in motion could shake the foundation of the chantry itself and that was _terrifying_.

There was nothing left to do but hope she made the right decision.


End file.
